Dirty Aristocrat(59)

'Take a seat, Lily.' William's voice is firm, but in a reassuring,  hypnotic kind of way. It struck me that way even on the phone. I walk to  the vacant seat and gingerly perch myself on the edge of it. The woman  sitting next to me turns my way and smiles warmly.

'Relax, we're all friends here,' she says and presses her hand on mine.

'Hi,' I say, resisting the impulse to pull my hand away.

I first heard about this center when a friend suggested it four years  ago. She said it kept her sane when her father took his own life. But I  never wanted to come. Until a few days ago. I'm only going to observe, I  told myself again and again. But now that I am here, I no longer know  why I am even here at all.

'So who wants to begin the session?'

It's that time when someone gets up and bares their naked soul!         

     



 

William looks directly at me. Oh no. I'm only here to observe. I'm not  ready to reveal anything yet and certainly not to a room full of  strangers. I realize then that it has taken a long time for me to stop  putting flowers on the grave of my memories. I don't want to talk about  him now. Maybe not ever. I bow my head and hope he will take the blatant  hint and give me a pass.

'How about you, Lily? Would you like to share with us?'

Heads turn my way. I look at him reproachfully.

'Tell us a little about why you're here?' he coaxes.

'I'd rather not. Not just yet, anyway.'

He smiles gently. 'That's all right, you don't have to participate yet, only when you feel ready.'

A weight suddenly escapes my body and I ease back in my chair. This man  has a way that soothes and calms me. Someone else starts speaking. His  voice drones on, becomes a buzz that I don't listen to. I lose sense of  time.

The next thing I know, I'm being awoken by a soft but insistent touch.  My body involuntarily recoils. William is hovering above me. My violent  reaction causes him to back off with his hands raised.

'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,' I apologize and his face breaks into a kind smile.

'Would you like to talk for a few moments, Lily?'

'Everyone has gone,' I note.

'Yes, the session ended. You fell asleep quite early into it but you  seemed so worn out and since you were reluctant to participate just yet,  I let you rest.'

Inside I feel awful-I mean, who the hell comes to therapy and falls  asleep on the very first session? 'Thank you,' I say shamefully.

'Hey, that's what we are all here for, Lily. Shoulder to cry on. Nobody  here is going to judge you. It's obvious you are very troubled and if  there's anything I can … '

'No,' I deny, instantly going into defensive mode, closing the door to  any hint of pity. I get to my feet. 'Really, I'm OK,' I add, avoiding  eye contact.

'It won't do you any good, locking it all away.'

'Yeah, well maybe it won't, but it was a mistake coming here,' I respond  sharply, and try to move past his large frame, but he moves directly in  front of me.

'It's never a mistake to seek help, Lily. You need to find a way to deal  with your pain or rage or perhaps your guilt. Bottling it up will only  make things much worse, and believe me, you are hearing this from  someone who has been there.'

Even though I try to resist the wisdom of his words, his gray eyes have a  depth and knowledge that command my reluctant attention.

'People come here because they've lost control of their lives and they  want to heal-they're tired of the grief, the tears, the immobilization.  Promise me, even if you never come back, that you will focus on  something positive. Take back the control you lost, Lily.'

Strangely, as I search his eyes, I feel calm. I've told him nothing of  my problems yet there is some thread of connection between us. He has  suffered himself, it's clear he's no fake.

'I will.'

He steps aside and nods with approval. I start moving toward the exit.

'You take care now.' His words punctuate the empty silence.

I leave the strangely echoing, sad building and insert myself into the  bustle of the real world, but something's different about the way I feel  now. I'm actually glad that I took this route, because I know.

I will never come back. The pain cannot be talked away, it has to be  exorcised away. The destructive emotions buried deep inside me tear  free, like a hand protruding from a grave.

I begin to sprint, blood rushing to the powerful muscles in my thighs,  my movements long and sure. My pounding step accelerates until it jars  on the pavement. The wind whistles by my ears. Sweat beads on my skin  and makes my clothes cling to my back. My muscles start stinging, my  chest heaving as if it will burst. But I don't stop running.

Maybe I will never stop running.





FOURTEEN



My new job is in Jake's import and export firm. I have been stuck in the  administration department. The job is terribly legitimate and terribly,  terribly boring, but I do get to keep my clothes on and the money is  far better than I could have hoped for. Everybody is really nice to me  and Ann, my co-worker, picks me up in the morning and drops me off after  work. So no complaints.

That day I work till late and when I get out of the car the night air is warm and thick with an imminent storm brewing.

'See you tomorrow,' I call and wave as Ann drives away.

I fish my keys out of my bag and start walking up the path to my front  door. I swear I never felt even the slightest premonition. When the  man's hands clamp down on me I am totally taken by surprise. My heart  stops cold, but my brain works perfectly. The impressions are fleeting  but clear. Caucasian. Skin gleaming sickly in the white glare of the  fluorescent lighting from the adjacent building. Breath smelling of  cigarette smoke. Wrists full of dark hair. Pale eyes: blank and empty  like a reptile's. Black shirt. Dark blue jeans. Five feet nine. A  hundred and ninety pounds.         

     



 

I know him.

From the club. He wanted me to touch him. I said no and walked away, but not before I had seen the flash of hatred.

My nerves scream for me to run, but he has the element of surprise. He  jerks me toward him and drags me into the undergrowth. I try to lift my  arms up to fight him off and he pushes me roughly to the ground. I  stagger and crash backwards into the bushes. Branches scratch the sides  of my face and neck.

He falls on me, his fingers digging into my shoulders. I lie underneath his weight, winded. Unable to move.

'Refuse me, will you? You skanky, stone cold, cheap whore,' he hisses,  his jaw quivering with fury. Immobile I stare into his eyes. Whatever  else he is, he is vicious. My heart thumps wildly with fear. Terrified, I  know I cannot run.

He grins hatefully. 'Still think you're too good for me, slut?'

'No,' I say, shaking my head, and he punches me in the face.

The blow stuns me. Colored stars dance across my vision, blinding me and  making me wobble, before my brain actually registers the explosion of  fierce pain. Blood erupts from my nose, splatters his hand, and pours  down the sides of my face. Sick fear spreads in my stomach. I want to  vomit or piss myself.

He digs his knee into my chest and taking his mobile out of his pocket,  starts taking pictures of me bleeding and pinned under him! Terror is  like an enveloping coat of freezing cold leaves. This guy means to kill  me. But it is a good thing he does that because it allows me to recover  slightly. My brain starts rolling into action again. He is too big for  me to push off and his position means I cannot even knee him or do any  damage to him with my hands.

My only option is to pretend to become unconscious and find a way to  open my purse, which is still hooked to my elbow. I let my head loll to  the side. If I can just get inside my purse. He takes his knee off my  chest and starts unzipping his pants. I do nothing. I keep my breathing  even while my fingers are slowly moving into the flap of my bag.  Suddenly he drops over me and like a rabid animal bites hard into my  neck. So hard I am no longer able to pretend to be unconscious.

I scream. My hand searches frantically inside my bag. He slaps me hard. I  feel a knife at my throat. I close my mouth. I have located my mace.  Very stealthily I bring it out and in a flash I spray it into his face.  He falls backwards, his hands clawing at his face. I seize the moment,  pick myself up, and run screaming toward the building. A man-I have seen  him before, he must live in the building too-runs to me. He wants to  call the police but I say no. I tell him I am too frightened to call the  police. I definitely do not want him to call the police.

'You've been attacked. You must tell the police.'

I look at him. 'It's someone I know. An ex. I don't want to call the police, OK?'

He shakes his head in a disgusted way. Together we go back and get my  handbag. I thank him, find my keys and go into my apartment.

Melanie is on the phone ordering a Chinese takeout.

'Fuck! What happened to you?'

'One of the customers from the club. Remember that creep I told you about?'

'That pervert Simon?'

I nod. 'He took pictures of me with his mobile camera.'

'What a nasty piece of work?'

I go to the mirror. My nose is bleeding copiously and one side of my face is starting to swell badly.

I hold my head tilted upwards while Melanie applies ice packs that she  uses on her feet on my face. 'It'll be a bit smelly but you'll survive,'  she tells me. Then she picks up her phone. 'I've got to tell Brianna.  Ban him and warn the other girls. You need to make a police report.'